


Let Me In

by Ashborn_Dragonrider



Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Antisepticeye Sean McLoughlin, Danti - Freeform, Darkiplier Mark Fischbach, Demonic Possession, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Near Death, Not Really Character Death, Possession, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-05-08 20:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14702127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashborn_Dragonrider/pseuds/Ashborn_Dragonrider
Summary: As he watched the mirror, his pupils bled slowly into the rest of his eyes, turning them pitch black. His reflection smirked, letting out a sickening laugh."̡͜S͜t̵i̷l͢l͞ ͠͞no̡͘t͠ afr͟ą̵͟i҉d,̧ J̧͝ac҉k?͞͞"͟Strong sexual content in chapters five and onward.





	1. Who Are You?

**Author's Note:**

> This fic focuses on Antisepticeye. What he is, how he gets a strong foothold in this world, and his relationship with Jack.  
> Darkiplier will also make an appearance.  
> I was thinking to myself, how would Anti have approached Jack, and what situation could I create where he'd agree to let him in that included Mark (and therefore Darkiplier)? That's where this story came from.  
> 

It was a week after Mark had been checked into the hospital that Jack received the message.

And by message, it meant the Skype call he’d finally gotten with the image of Mark in a hospital bed greeting him as soon as he answered it.

Mark’s face was covered in a breathing mask, preventing him from speaking, and maybe he was asleep the entire time anyway. Jack couldn’t tell.

At first, admittedly, he’d tried to deny what Mark’s team was trying to tell him. He didn’t process all the words he was hearing, knowing only that they believed he wasn’t going to be making it home again after this visit.

They explained that they probably weren’t going to be able to call again, and that if Jack had anything he wanted to say, he should get it off his chest now.

Jack had been... stunned, to say the least. It was an incredible amount of pressure within the span of a few minutes; he didn’t know how to respond.

How could he? How should he? Perhaps by saying that he'd be missed? That sounded too… harsh, both to have to say and for Mark and his team to hear. 'I'll miss you' is something you say to someone who's going on vacation, not to someone who's on death's door. Should he say that he wished he could take this all away and make his days with him really count?

Should he say that he loved him?

Love. He wanted to say it didn't feel right when talking about Mark, but no other word was really strong enough to communicate the level of admiration and care he felt for the American. Not in a way that would surely make fangirls scream, but there was something there. Something special. Not romantic, but certainly something one didn't find every day.

He just couldn't bring himself to say it.

So instead he simply said he’d hope for the best for him, told him goodbye, and let them hang up.

He couldn't help but feel like that was the worst, most generic goodbye he'd ever given in his life, and it was definitely ranked among the most important.

_My best friend is dying._

Afterwards, he didn't sleep. He barely ate. It ate at him, and for more reasons than his lame goodbye.

He felt… _lost._ Like he was in a state of barely having any motivation for anything for what felt like forever, but realistically, it couldn't have been too many days.

But during those days, he heard nothing from Mark; nothing since that single call, and frankly, he was too afraid to reach out. Just in case Mark had died in the time since then. God, that thought alone made Jack feel sick.

He felt as though he still had so much he wanted to say to him, so much he wanted to share with him and do with him, but he'd been too late.

_Too little, too late._

Now Mark was out of reach.

As days dragged into a week, he couldn't understand why it affected him so much. Why losing Mark broke him so utterly…

Deep down, he'd felt it was impossible. Deep down, he stupidly assumed that Mark was invincible. Someone who would be there until the end. At the very least, someone who would grow older with him. Someone he would be able to go to for advice until he felt like he had life figured out... and fuck, he still didn't have it figured out.

_I needed more time._

The shock of his loss numbed him for about a day, but as time went on, the pain came for him. It consumed his mind, ruined his work, and constantly, constantly reminded him that his best friend had slipped right through his fingers without him even knowing. Just how long had Mark been feeling badly before this? Had he kept it hidden all this time?

But then again... Jack doubted it would have made much of a difference if he'd known sooner.

Perhaps it was this... _inner turmoil_... that gave the creature lurking in the background the confidence to finally step forward, to finally show itself to Jack. As more than a shadow, as more than a voice.

Looking back, he didn't know if it should be counted as a blessing or a curse.

Looking back, he had no idea why he'd kept his calm the way he did when _he_ made his first actual appearance in Jack’s life. Maybe it was because he didn't really believe it was real, or maybe because he'd accepted he'd already lost his mind. Either way, it mattered little now.

So when that shadow, barely visible loomed over him in the darkness of his kitchen, Jack only stared blankly, confused. Not backing away, not making a sound, only watching. Waiting.

 

"̲̗̣͙Y̯̦͍ͩ̏̾̓͝ô̵̩͋u̥̯̞͂̂̏ͨͦ͌̒'͓͕̮͋̔̈́̓̈́͐r̢͆ͭͥ̄e̮̯̘ͬͭͨ̎̊ ̪̥ͫ̐n̲͙͍̼͉̆̌ͥ̈́̉̈́͘o̦͇̣̿͆̉͜t͂ ͪ̒̿̓a̶̺̯̹̮ͤ͗̓̅ͭ͑͊fͯͥ̅̾́̓ͧr͊̿a͎̙̠͓̙͑̏͐ͤ̓ͅi̫̞ͨ̓ͪͨ̃ͯͦ͜d̠͇̂̏͂̔ͧ͊̒?͔͖̳̰̳͈̙̆̎͂̏̑̚"̬͍ͅ

 

Jack could barely make out what the creature said. It sounded... vaguely similar to his own voice, but more like it had gone through a terrible phone connection. Glitchy. But he understood well enough to shake his head. _No_. No, he was not afraid.

He was either dreaming... or insane. And either way, he wasn't in danger, was he?

If anything, he was fascinated as he watched the shadow with bright, shockingly green eyes draw closer.

"̷G̡ood̶."̨ It stopped a few feet away.

As his eyes adjusted, he thought perhaps he was looking in the mirror for a second. It resembled him almost perfectly; same hair, same build, same clothing... But... his reflection didn't have eyes like that. Eyes that were almost entirely black, apart from the startling glowing green irises.

Jack reflexively scooted backwards, uncomfortable. “Who are you?”

"̕I'm you̵r op͜pos҉it̛ȩ,̢" the creature murmured. “͜I'm͏ ҉t̛h̢e ͞y͘i̴n t̕o҉ y̧ou͜r ̵y̨ang.͘ I'̧m͝ y͘o̸ur ̡s͢ha̶d͢ow҉.̴ ̡I'm… th͜e͝ an̴ti-͞h̸er̕o͟.”̨

_Anti-hero?_

“What do you want?” Jack asked. “Am I…”

"҉I҉ns̛a̡ne?̡ D̶reami͘ng̡? ͜ _De̕ad͟?"̧_ The creature laughed, the sound sick and twisted, and straightened to full height. It looked tall, unnaturally thin. In fact… nothing about it looked natural. "N̨o.̷ ̡N͟o͝t q̧u̴i̸te. I'͏m̶ ̛h̨ere t͡o̕ o̴f̢fer you ҉s̛om̛et͏hin̢g."

“Offer me what?”

“I̷'͡m ̴wi̸lling t̴o̷ h̸elp you, ̧Jack͝.̛ ̧I̷ ͟can ҉easȩ y̢oưr͏ ̵m͟ind̢.̛ I̡ c̷an f̢i͟x you̶. I͢ ҉can ̶f̴ix _e̛v͝ery̵t͘hi͏ng.͜"_

Though it was almost pitch black, Jack could have sworn he felt the darkness grow a bit larger, creeping closer like liquid across a flat surface. “How?”

“If y̷o͏u͢ ̴bel͜iev̧e ̡I͝'m͟ ̛ly̴ing̸..͝. if͞ yo̡u'r̕e to҉o a͡f̛ra҉i̢d̸, I'̴ll҉ leave no͏w̨,̵” the distorted voice snapped, irritated. "I̷'m ǫffer̷ing ͝t̢o ̶hęlp͡ you̶.̶ I͠ ͜ca͢n ͜gi͝v̧e y̷o̵u ̕every̸thi͠n̵g.̸.͠.͜ ̕ơr ta̸k͝e̡ ҉it ̶aw͠a̶y̢.̶ I̢ ca͘n ͢help҉ you."

It suddenly dropped its slim arms, and Jack felt the floor shake as if someone had just dropped their entire body weight onto his kitchen tiles. He felt as if he could hear the echoes of it, as well, before realizing what it was.

A threat.

"̴Or ͝I̸ ̶can _des͘troy_ yo͘u."̛

Jack flinched, closing his eyes and opening them again to see if it would make the monster disappear. When it didn't work, he spoke. _"What do you want from me?"_

The creature didn't answer, going silent and drifting back for a moment. "All̵ I ̶nee͞d҉ ҉i͡s̛ ̡fo͡r you ̧to̷ ͝l͜et me in,"̛ the creature said smoothly. "L͡et͟ ͡m͜e͢ ̛in̸, ͟and ̛I͜ ̸c̡a̸n ̷g͏rant ͞yo̶u şucce͝s̨s͟.̛ ͝F͡ame̢.͢ P͠erh̛a̸ps ͘I͝ ̷c̕an ͢e͢veņ s͝a̶v̨e͘ y̢our ͟l҉it̴t̵l̢e̷ f̶r̢ie̛nd.̷"̷

His stomach lurched. But... that was impossible, wasn't it? Mark was dead, right? Or close enough that he wasn’t savable?

Right?

Then again, he hadn't been absolutely sure. He hadn’t checked.

And if he wasn't... could a demon truly bring back the dead?

Had Jack been in his right mind, he would have thought himself crazy and ignored the shadow and the voice while calling a doctor. Had he been in his right mind, he would have turned his back on this… _thing_ immediately.

He wasn't.

So he didn't.

“Prove it,” he whispered instead.


	2. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack wakes up from that nightmare. It had to just be a nightmare... right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I expected this story to get no notice at all, but thank you guys so much for taking the time to look through it.   
> To make this into more of a thriller, I'm going to be keeping a lot of things to myself.

Jack had heard of sleep paralysis before.

Not being able to move or speak in that space between sleep and wakefulness… but he’d never experienced it. Not until now.

He hadn’t thought it would be like this.

He was fully aware. At least, his mind was not asleep. He was thinking perfectly clearly. He just couldn't use his body. Something he might compare to sitting in a lightless room, if that dark room was his mind.

That on its own would be fine, he supposed. But… he could have sworn he felt his body moving anyway… as if of its own accord. 

He could feel wind against his face. He could feel the splatter of rain in his hair, on his clothes. He could smell it, as well as the scent of the road, and feel the ground under his shoes. He could feel the stretch and exertion of his arms and legs. 

He was going somewhere.

His body, though not currently under his orders, was not… mindless. Mindless movement wasn’t like this. No, this was deliberate. 

Wherever he was going, it was for a reason. 

He couldn’t see where he was. Either it was too dark, his eyes were closed, or something was keeping him from seeing. Something about that possibility was… unsettling.

If he wasn’t in control of his eyes… who was?

The blood-curdling scream of a girl seemed to shatter the darkness he was surrounded with, and Jack’s eyes flashed open, air rushing into his lungs as he tensed up to face whatever danger that had caused that scream.

But… he wasn’t outside.

He was laying on his kitchen floor, staring up at the ceiling as the sun was rising.

Exactly where he'd been last night.

He would have brushed it off, along with the previous night’s memories of mirror image monsters that offered deals to save his best friend’s life.

But… his hair was wet. Not only that, but the sleeve of his black T-shirt was torn. 

And if he'd collapsed on the floor, why wasn't any part of his body aching?

“I must be losing my fuckin' mind,” he whispered, rising to his feet and heading straight to the bathroom, throwing his clothes into his laundry hamper and stepping under the hot spray of the shower.

* * *

 

Despite his fear of bad news, he turned everything back on a few hours later. All his social media, his computer, his phone. He needed a distraction from his thoughts, anyway. 

Of course in came a flood of notifications, but… none of them were from Mark. As he checked Twitter for messages from Mark's team to update about his condition, Jack stumbled onto an article… 

It had the picture of blood-splattered pavement beside a more forested area, and a few emergency vehicles surrounding what was very clearly a crime scene. Jack winced; normally he'd look away from things like this, but for some reason, the picture looked… oddly familiar.

Not the picture itself, but the area it was taken in. Though, he was almost sure he'd never gone there. He felt as though maybe he'd seen it in another picture.

Or in a dream.

Unable to place where he'd seen it before, he read the title of the article, trying to see if he could find the name of the road or forest.

**MUTILATED BODY OF YOUNG WOMAN FOUND BESIDE BUSY ROAD**

Jack felt sick. Murder was fucking disgusting in his eyes. Inexcusable. And as he saw a photo of the poor girl, he couldn't help but feel sympathy for her friends and family. She looked to be in her twenties, pretty, with a bright smile and cute curly hair. He couldn't imagine how they must be feeling. Losing someone like this… no one should have to go through that.

The area wasn't named specifically, and the name of the general area wasn't familiar to Jack. Maybe it was just a weird, random case of déjà vu.

Disgusted, he clicked away from it, going to his friends’ posts.

Tyler's account had posted something, and only about an hour ago; he quickly checked to see what it was. 

 

_ Docs say Mark took a real bad turn today. He’s probably not going to wake up. Wish we had better news, but at least he won't suffer long. Thanks for the support, everyone. _

 

Turning his chair away from the screen, Jack buried his face in his hands. 

Well. It was stupid to hope a dream he had would magically save Mark. Running his fingers through his green hair, he let out a shaky breath. 

He needed to start making arrangements for visiting America for Mark's funeral. 

He did his best to make a few prep videos that explained sudden departure, just in case of the inevitable, and let people know why he needed to be prepared to drop everything. 

He wasn't really surprised, but as usual, when he watched it back, he sounded a bit… off. He sounded dead.

Looking back, Jack thought maybe that was already true.


	3. Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's weird dreams continue, and Mark's body finally succumbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We haven't gotten to the dark themes quite yet. But they will come eventually. I'll put warnings at the beginnings of potentially traumatizing chapters and give summaries about what happened in the next chapter in case people want to skip them. 
> 
> I've been thinking about what direction I want to turn with this story, and I decided to change around some of the tags. Possible slight Septiplier in future chapters, depending on your definition.

As it turned out, that first night wasn’t the only time he’d experience paralysis.

But the second time, it was different. He didn’t feel anything. He just knew he was dreaming. 

He was at peace. He floated, worryless, painless, in the darkness of his mind. 

Somewhere in his head, a voice whispered how nice it would be… how easy it would be… to stay like this forever.

And a part of him agreed. 

He woke late, exactly where he'd first gone to sleep. But he felt oddly refreshed, if a little sore in his arms. 

He took the opportunity to record a video, almost matching up to his usual energy and enthusiasm. It was a good game, witty but scary. An interesting combination, and it came off well. He recorded enough for a couple episodes, cut them a bit, then sent them to Robin to shape into real content.

He was feeling pretty good. He'd finally gotten plenty of work done, and he was looking forward to doing more.

But that was when the message came.

As he was heading to bed again that night, his phone gave a few frantic beeps. The moment Jack saw his notifications, his heart sank.

It was Ethan. And not with good news.

_ Mark's body just gave out. He stopped breathing. They pushed us out of the room and won't let us back in. I think he's gone. -E _

Jack didn't cry. He couldn't let himself.

He forced his barriers up, blocking out what this meant.

He was lucky his things were already mostly packed. He made himself focus only on booking a flight to LA, and then on getting there as quickly as possible. He wanted to be there for Ethan, Bob, Wade and the others. They needed support now. Not a weepy, broken down shell of a man haunted by weird dreams.

He shoved down any lingering thoughts of his  _ anti-hero _ (as he'd started mentally calling him), and told his family and nearby friends where he was going and why. 

And he took off for America.

For Mark’s funeral.

When he finally admitted it to himself, that was what broke through the barriers he'd set in his mind. His entire purpose for coming to America was to be here while they buried his best friend. 

He cried the whole flight over, sleeping only briefly, avoiding checking his phone. It didn't really matter, anyhow. 

That is, until he touched down. He checked his texts for only a moment, but… something held his attention, keeping him from deciding against it and turning his phone off again. 

He had a new message from Ethan. 

He was barely aware that he opened it before his eyes were scanning over the message. 

_ Mark woke up. -E _

Everything went black.

* * *

 

Jack was dreaming again. Floating through nothing, without care, without pain. Without fear.

It felt like it'd been a long time since he'd felt this way.

Though he wasn't awake, he knew he had no reason to be unhappy anymore. 

But he had something he  _ wanted,  _ right? What was it, he tried to recall. And why was he here if there was something he wanted to do?

_ Mark. _

It suddenly occurred to him.  _ Mark. He wanted to see Mark.  _

Mark… that was right. Mark was close by. That was all he knew in this state. 

_ Mark is here.  _

_ Yes. He's close. You'll see him. Just like I promised. _

Jack didn't really understand this voice… but he felt comforted by the thought of a kept promise. Something about them made him feel reassured, though at the moment he couldn't quite recall what the promises were.

He missed Mark. 

But…

A bit of reality crashed in through his dreamland. 

Mark. Mark was awake.

_ Mark was alive. _

Jack jolted awake, frantically glancing around.

He was sitting in the passenger seat of an unfamiliar car with an unfamiliar driver. It was bright, almost blindingly sunny as he squinted through the windshield. There were several large buildings scattered around them, which were surrounded by even more cars. The driver, a young man with a baseball cap, cleared his throat. “Sorry for waking you, but we're here,” he said. He had an American accent. 

So flying here wasn't a dream, at least.

Jack turned to him. “Where are we?”

The young man blinked, then gestured to the closest building. “The hospital. You did want to come here, right?” He holds up his phone, showing an Uber destination.

Jack stared. Then unclipped his seatbelt as fast as he could, completely spooked. “Yes. Thank you.” He jumped out of the car and whipped out his phone, jogging away from the car and towards the hospital.

How had he ended up here?

As he went through his messages, he noticed that he'd apparently chatted with Ethan for longer than he remembered.

_ That's great. I just landed, where are you guys? -J _

Ethan gave the address of the hospital and the room number Mark was in, and Jack thanked him, letting him know he'd be there in about an hour and a half. 

Jack checked the sent time of that last text. Almost exactly an hour and a half ago. 

_ Okay, this is really fuckin’ weird… _

Maybe he'd just been so excited he forgot when he fell asleep? Did that happen? 

Did it really even matter at this point? He was here, and Mark was okay, and he'd get to see him again any minute now.

Jack rushed inside as fast as he could, rushing to the elevator as Ethan had instructed. He stopped at the mentioned floor, and started down the hallway, looking for the number.

He didn't have to look hard. Ethan was standing outside, and immediately greeted Jack with a hug.

“What the fuck happened?” Jack asked as they pulled back.

Ethan was beaming. “I don't know. Docs said it was a miracle. He was dead for a few minutes; they were giving up because he wasn't responding to anything. And then he just… I don't know. It was like… someone hit reset. His heart restarted and he just woke up.”

Well, Jack wasn't about to complain about a miracle if it saved him. “Is he awake now?”

Ethan nodded. “Yeah. He's awake. He's been asking about you for a while.”

He was about to just dash inside to be sure Mark was alive and alright. “And he's… emotionally, is he okay?”

Ethan paused at that, and Jack inwardly winced. Ah. So Mark wasn't totally okay.

Ethan sighed. “He's okay, he's just… shaken. And I mean, anyone would be after a near death experience, right?”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, then took a deep breath. For some reason, he was nervous as he finally went inside.

He couldn't see Mark at first; his bed was surrounded by his friends and his family. 

“Jack?”

Jack knew that voice better than his own. He was smiling as he stepped forward, the group parting to let him through. 

And there Mark was. Jack only got a brief look at him before he was at his side, and was pulled into one of the most needed hugs of his life. 

Mark looked the same. He didn't look how he'd looked in that brief Skype call: half dead, weak, almost lifeless. He did look a bit paler than usual, but he had been here for a while. But that was it. Mark looked okay. Mark  _ was _ okay.

Mark patted his back, resting his head on Jacky's shoulder. “It's good to see you.”

_ Mark was okay. _

He didn't realize he was crying until Mark playfully complained as he pulled back, wiping at his wet shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “It's just… I was scared, you ass. I thought I was coming here for your funeral.”

Mark met his eyes with that goofy grin of his. But something was a bit... off about it. “Well, I considered it, tried it out, and y’know… death really isn't for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing later chapters rather than writing the ones I'm supposed to be writing, but whatever, hopefully this won't screw me over in the end.


	4. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For your patience, you get an extra long chapter in which Jack realizes a few things.  
> This chapter contains violence and slight unintentional self harm. You've been warned.  
> Next chapter will likely contain non-con/dub-con elements.

_ “You can't hide, little bitch. I’ll find you.” _

Rain on his shoulders. The feel of wind… darkness, and the strong metallic scent of something unpleasant but familiar… something that fitted nicely into his fist… 

Jack recognized this place. The road, the woods… but where had he seen it before?

His body was moving of its own accord. He could see, hear, smell, and feel everything, but couldn’t control a moment of what he was seeing, as if he were just watching a movie from his own perspective. This dream was so startlingly realistic. 

And he was looking for something, that much he could tell. Hunting something.

The thought made his heart pound with terrifying excitement. Whatever it was, he desperately wanted to catch it.

For what purpose, Jack still had no idea.

_ “Come out. It'll be less painful for you.” _

He wasn't in control of the words pouring from his lips, and in his dreamlike state he didn't understand them. Still, he recognized his own voice and accent. 

The one question that stood out in his mind was  _ just who was he speaking to? _

His arm shot out in a seemingly random direction, nearly impossible to see through the dark, but his hand closed around a chilled wrist from where it was hidden around one of the trees. A rather impressive catch; almost like he’d been able to smell or hear her.

_ “Caught you.” _

So it was a human being. A person. Fingers gripped his shirt, not in fear but in  _ anger. _ Whoever it was, they were fighting back. A fist made harsh contact with his cheek, but he didn't even flinch; his head didn't jerk to the side despite the blow being a strong one. Jack could feel it; it was surprisingly painful for a dream… 

There was something in his other hand, he knew, he just didn’t know what it was until it glinted in the moonlight before slicing across her chest.

He finally realized the person in his grasp was a girl as her blood-curdling scream echoed through the woods, cutting off into disgusting gurgles when he slashed her throat.

* * *

 

Jack jolted awake, cold sweat sliding down his temple and spine.

He looked around him and down at his hands, but there was no forest. No girl. No blade. No blood.

He was laying in the spare bedroom of Mark’s house. Right where he was supposed to be.

Over the past week, Mark had been recovering at an incredible rate in the hospital.

He’d gotten stronger immediately, started eating more, even worked in some exercises when they let him out of bed. Color returned to his skin. All in all, he was making amazing progress. 

Jack had spent those days in the hospital with Mark, and his nights staying with the team at Mark's house. Mark had been allowed to come home the previous day with another check-up set for the following week.

While Jack was ecstatic that Mark had woken from something that should have killed him, part of him was incredibly bothered by that fact. 

Really, it should have killed Mark.

Mark had been technically dead for a few minutes. They'd given up on him waking up. 

What if…

What if his anti-hero somehow did have something to do with it?

_ Anti, _ he decided.  _ What if Anti had something to do with it? _

He'd had nothing strange really happen since Mark's awakening, but at the same time, he was incredibly curious and worried. Things like this… they didn't just  _ happen _ .

And these dreams were not helping Jack’s nerves. He hadn't slept well since before his trip to LA, and he wasn't going to get anymore sleep tonight, that was for sure. 

He slipped out of bed and padded to the living room, yawning and stretching.

He was still a little on edge, so when he saw the shadow looming over the couch, he froze.

Slowly, the shadowy figure turned.

“Jack?”

It was just Mark. Jack sighed in relief. “Hey, Mark.”

“What are you doing up?”

“Can't sleep.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck as he sat down beside Mark. “Just thinking about a few things.”

“Hey, if anything is bothering you…” Mark scooted next to Jack, laying a hand on his shoulder. “If it's about what happened…”

“No. Well, I mean, it did bother me. It still does bother me,” Jack admitted. “But no, that's not what I meant. I've just… been having weird dreams. They started before I came here. It's not your fault, so don't go worryin’ about it.”

“Dreams? Do you wanna talk about it?” Mark laid his arm over the back of the couch. “I have nightmares all the time, so if you want to talk, I'm down to listen.”

The sad part was that he really _ did _ want to talk about it. He was incredibly used to talking about any issues he had and working through them that way… remaining silent about something that really bothered him was driving him nuts. Especially since Mark was offering… it was so unbelievably tempting just to spill everything.

As tempting as it was… what would it all sound like?

_ I dreamt a demon came and offered to save your life in exchange for me 'letting him in’. Now I have extremely realistic dreams about murder. #relatable amiright? _

“No, it's okay. I'm good.”

Mark hummed thoughtfully, nodding. “Alright. But I'm here if you need anything.”

Forcing a grin, he nudged Mark’s  shoulder. “Yeah, I know, yeh big softie.”

“Wow, jeez… this is why I don't usually try to be nice.”

Jack smiled over at him, suddenly incredibly glad that Mark was still here.

_ If… by some odd chance… it was because of Anti that Mark survived… maybe it was a good thing.  _

As long as Mark was alive, he still had this. 

“Hey, Jack…”

“Hm?”

“Since we're awake, and everyone else is asleep… wanna do a world's quietest let's play? I haven’t done a new let’s play since I got out of the hospital, and I know people would love to see you in one.” 

Jack laughed. “Well, yeah, but… a  _ quiet let’s play?  _ Who d’you think yer talking to?” He pretended to do his intro, replacing the  _ WAPSSH _ with the tiniest ‘ _ woosh _ ’.  _ “Top of the mornin’ to ya, laddies… my name is Jacksepticeye. And welcome… _ to a  _ WORLD'S QUIETEST LET'S PLAY!”  _ He whisper-yelled the last bit, raising his fists like he did when he screamed HAPPY WHEELS, similar to one of his old joke vids.

Mark snorted. “That just goes to prove it’d be funny!”

“What would we even play?”

“We could set you up and we could play a bit of Speedrunners,” Mark suggested. “We haven’t done it in a while and it’s pretty good for a 1v1.”

_ “Okay,” _ Jack whispered again.

_ “I’m going to destroy you,” _ Mark whispered back.  _ “Very quietly.” _

Something flickered in the back of Jack’s mind at that moment; it was almost like… a memory. Like some sort of deja vu.

It was gone in a second, and was forgotten when the Irishman went to turn on his recording equipment.

When he played with Mark, it was… easier. Easier to bring back his old enthusiasm, easier to forget about what was on his mind. 

When he was laughing, trying not to make noise with Mark as they bullshitted their way through round after round almost until dawn, he realized how much he needed this. Not just to heal from the shock he’d suffered, but to… recharge himself. Remind himself why he was doing this.

It was one of the first good things for him in what felt like a long time.

* * *

_ Good things never last. _

Jack had a measure of peace for two days. And then… it ended. 

It was the third day after Mark returned home that it happened.

Jack still hadn't been sleeping well, so when he opened his eyes that morning, sensing the soreness and the ache behind his eyelids, he wasn't surprised. He had nightmares frequently, and they left him exhausted.

He slowly sat up, wiping his face.

He froze, staring down at his hand. Then he brought up his other.

There was blood caked around his fingers, under his nails…

_ Finally awake, eh, Jackaboy? _

Jack startled, glancing around. No one was there.

_ Just because yeh can't see me doesn't mean I'm not here, Jack. _

“What… what the fuck…”

_ As cute as this is, playtime is over. Remember me?  _

Jack blinked. Was he still dreaming? “Anti?”

_ Anti? Sure, if that's the name you wanted teh give me. I'm almost surprised yeh remember. You're probably the slowest fuckin’ person I've ever met… _

“What do you want?”

_ I’m just here to offer another deal, Jackaboy. And suggesting yeh clean up, in case your little friends wonder why their good friend is covered in blood. _

“I… it…” he stared at his hands in horror, then scrambled out of bed, rushing to the washroom. He slammed the door shut, leaning over the sink, panting. After a moment of thought he turned on cold water full blast, scrubbing off the dried blood with shaky fingers. “What the fuck… what happened last night, Anti?”

_ Same thing that did last time I was out and about, dumbass. I thought you remembered. That girl with the pretty little curls? The one who tried to hide in the forest? _

“No… you…  _ you  _ killed her?”

_ Oh, no. We did. _

Jack stared at the mirror in shock.

_ “Murderer!”  _ He screamed.

_ You killed them just as much as I did, Jackaboy, _ Anti sing-songed. _ It was your voice that drew them away from safety; they were so eager to follow the sweet little Jacksepticeye. And it was your hands that drove the knife into their flesh. If murder makes you a monster, you're as monstrous as me. _

The sound of Anti's voice was unnerving. They sounded so similar… even Jack couldn't tell their voices apart like this.

“No,” Jack said fiercely. His reflection stared angrily back at him. Just him. No one else. He was calm; completely in control. Maybe if he told himself that enough, he'd start to believe it. “I’m not like you. I’m nothing like you! I’m not a monster!”

He could… he could fight this. He could find a way to trap himself in at night, and keep things from Anti. He could lock up everything that could be used as a weapon and keep the knowledge away from him. He could do it!

As he watched the mirror, his pupils bled slowly into the rest of his eyes, turning them pitch black. His reflection smirked, letting out a sickening laugh.

"̡͜S͜t̵i̷l͢l͞ ͠͞no̡͘t͠ afr͟ą̵͟i҉d,̧ J̧͝ac҉k?͞͞"͟

Jack stumbled back, punching the mirror so hard it shattered, the broken shards cutting into his hand. He couldn’t even feel it.  _ “GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY HEAD!” _

Anti’s only answer was the echo of his laughter, slowly fading away.

The bathroom doorknob jiggled, and Jack whirled around in a panic, half expecting to see Anti standing there, smiling menacingly.

But it wasn’t. Mark shoved his way into the room, grabbing Jack by the shoulders. “Jack! Jack, what the hell happened?”

Blinking slowly, Jack finally looked down at his bloody fist. “Oh…”

He would have collapsed onto the floor, had Mark not caught him and held him upright. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. We need to go to a hospital-”

Jack was shaking. “No… no… it's fine… I-” He glanced up at the broken mirror, droplets of his blood clinging to some of the jagged edges. “Oh god, I'm so sorry, Mark…”

“Jesus, dude. I'm not worried about the mirror. I'm worried about _ you.” _ Mark shook his head. “What the fuck happened? Did my mirror insult your mother or something?” 

Under normal circumstances, it would have gotten a laugh out of Jack. But he was too tightly wound, too afraid, to shaken up to laugh. All he could do was slump in Mark’s arms, hoping to god he’d be strong enough to keep Anti from doing anything to him or anyone else in the house.

He covered his face with his good hand. “I'm out of my mind,” he whispered. “I- I can't go to the hospital, Mark.  _ Please _ don't make me.”

Mark looked like he wanted to argue, but he must have seen and recognized the desperation in his eyes. He sighed. “Alright, Jack. I won't force you. But we need to get your hand cleaned up and bandaged. You might have glass stuck in the cuts.”

“Could you get me some tweezers and towels?” Jack was sure he could take care of it himself, given time… and peace from Anti.

“Sure, man. Sit tight. And don't punch anything else while you're waiting.”

He regretted asking Mark to fetch them for him the moment he was gone. 

He didn't want to be alone.

He'd killed. He killed innocent girls… girls who recognized him. Girls who appreciated him. 

_ Anti _ was a real thing. A real person. A real consciousness. 

A real threat. 

How powerful was he? How often did he attack? Was it… every time Jack fell asleep? 

Was it more than that?

Jack didn't have much time to worry about it, because Mark quickly came back with the stuff he'd asked for.

Jack sighed in relief. “Thanks, Mark. Hand me the tweezers, would you?” He reached out for them expectantly.

Mark shook his head, gently taking hold of Jack's injured hand. “Fuck no, dude. I got it. Just hold still.”

“What the fuck, Mark…”

“I got this. Look, hand injuries are bitches to take care of on your own. Take it from someone who injures himself all the time. I know.”

Jack winced as Mark delicately pulled out a piece of glass. “Fuck… well… thank you.”

“Don't worry about it, bro,” Mark flashed him an easy smile. “It's cool. You'd do the same for me.”

Jack pressed his lips together, trying not to get emotional over it. He’d never hear the end of it if Mark thought he was crying over a bit of broken glass.

While Mark worked, Jack took a few moments to search his mind for anything out of the ordinary. Voices, thoughts, anything. 

There was nothing. No echoes, no sounds. Just him.

Just Jack.

He hissed in pain, then looked Mark in the eye. Mark was his best friend, and this… this was something that was tearing him apart. Maybe talking about it would help? Even if it just made him feel better... “Mark, I-”

But at that moment, something occurred to him.

_ ‘I’m just here to offer you another deal, Jackaboy.’ _

Anti had another deal to offer?

“Yeah, Jack?”

“Nothing.”


	5. Warning Shot*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic depictions of non-con/dub-con in this chapter.  
> Anti shows Jack how far he is willing to go to make his life miserable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As said before, BEWARE. Non-con in the case of Jack, and dub-con in the case of Mark.  
> HOWEVER. This is not your typical rape scene. Bear that in mind as we continue, my dears.

Anti stayed silent for the rest of the day. Both a relief and an annoyance. A relief because it at least gave him a moment to breathe; an annoyance because Jack was curious to know what the fuck Anti wanted to offer.

Mark was unbelievably calm and understanding about the whole thing. When Tyler and Ethan asked why Jack’s hand was bandaged up and the mirror broken, Mark waved them off, saying it was an accident and that Jack was fine.

If he hadn’t done that, Jack had no idea how he would’ve explained it.

Mark made sure he was at Jack's side for the rest of the day. If something that required two hands needed to be done, Mark would do it. Jack complained playfully, but really, he was grateful for everything Mark was doing for him, even if he was being treated like a baby.

By the time Mark took them all out to dinner, Jack was feeling better… and a thousand times more furious with Anti for just going silent.

He'd tried to call to him a few times; he knew Anti was able to have conversations with him silently. Why was he waiting? Why couldn't he just tell him the damned offer _now?_

But Anti was completely silent… until Jack went to bed that night.

He'd barely closed his eyes when Anti had finally decided to speak again.

_Miss me that much, Jack?_

Jack groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Just fuckin’ tell me what you want to offer or shut the fuck up, Anti.”

_Tsk, tsk, Jackaboy. Play nice. Or I won't._

“Yeh already proved that,” Jack snapped. "Murderer."

_All the more reason to do as I say._

“Tell me yer damn deal.”

_Alright. I want time._

“Be more fuckin’ specific.”

Anti laughed in his mind. _I mean what I said, dumbass. I want my own time. Give me freedom once a week. Do it and I'll clean up afterwards. And… I won't hurt anyone you care about._

Jack exhaled slowly, his lips pressed together in a firm line. “No.”

 _Jack…_ Anti didn't sound playful any longer. He sounded angry. Threatening. _You can’t fight me forever. And when I break free, everything'll be free game to me. And I'll make sure you see every fuckin’ detail. You'll have to clean up my mess._

Jack shook his head shakily, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I'll find a way…”

_You're gonna regret this, Jack._

“I'll figure something out. I'm not going teh let you out teh hurt people.” He didn't want more blood on his hands. Not if there was a chance to avoid it.

Anti didn't respond.

Jack didn't sleep that night.

* * *

 

It wasn't long afterwards that Jack learned the hard way how serious Anti was.

He'd only be in America for a few more days, he thought. He could hold out that long. Stay awake. Keep himself indoors. 

He thought Anti had power over him when he fell asleep, and only then. It was an understandable conclusion... but incorrect nonetheless.

Trying to stay awake indefinitely sapped his strength, and drove him to exhaustion in both body and mind. Jack’s grip on himself slipped, and before he could get a better hold, he was abruptly hurled from the forefront into the background, locked inside.

Completely unused to it at this point, he panicked, yelling at Anti as he tried to regain himself. Anti, now fully in control once again, only ignored him.

Anti rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck to the side. _I promised I'd make you regret it, Jack. This is your own_ _fault._

As expected, Anti left the room, wandering around on his own. He didn’t seem to have a destination in mind, only wandering around at first.

_The fuck are you doing, Anti?_

Surprisingly, Mark was still up. Standing in the kitchen, cooking something. Probably just hungry for a midnight snack. Jack waited for Anti to turn and walk away, maybe leave the house for a few hours like he'd done before.

But instead of leaving, Anti took an immediate interest in the sight of Mark standing by the counter in his t-shirt and boxers, his expression focused as he scrolled through his phone.

It was rather cute.

A delicious thought occurred to him, and he took a second to make sure Jack was securely locked back before stepping into the room, coming up beside Mark to block his exit, trapping him.

Mark’s brow wrinkled in confusion as Anti drew close. “Wh- oh, hey, Jack. You hungry?”

Anti smirked, not bothering to correct him. If Mark thought he was Jack, it'd make this that much sweeter.

It was suddenly very clear to Jack what Anti intended to do.

He screamed in protest, trying to retake control by force. He slammed himself against Anti’s barriers, but he'd been awake far to long; he didn't have the strength to break through Anti’s reinforced walls. Not when Anti’d been prepared for such an assault.

Despite the effort Jack was putting into distracting him, Anti continued to ignore him, trailing his fingers through Mark's hair. “You looked so fuckin’ adorable standing here in the dark,” he crooned, pulling him close. “I couldn't help it.”

Mark blinked in surprise at his words, clearly confused. “Jack, what are you-”

“Shh.”

Anti was quick; faster and stronger than Mark. If he liked, he could simply hold the American down and take what he wanted within a few minutes. But he wasn't doing this for just a quick fix.

Jack was still aware, feeling everything Anti was doing. He wasn't going to let an opportunity like that slip past.

Jack had proven remarkably strong willed thus far. And Anti wanted to see how far he could take things while Jack was awake.

At first, he hadn’t known what he was going to do, but while he was here, he was surrounded by Jack’s friends. Friends that Jack loved dearly. Mark, especially, and Mark's near death experience had only strengthened Jack's reliance on him. Anti could definitely work with this. He could do things with Jack’s body that Jack wouldn’t approve of, which by itself could be enough to force Jack into submission.

Mark was the ideal target for several reasons. The two were clearly very close friends, and had a certain degree of chemistry. There was always the potential that Mark might even have interest.

That possibility was delicious.

And why not? Mark was a pretty thing. And Anti quite enjoyed wrecking pretty things.

Be it one way or another.

As Mark tried to scoot around him, Anti caught hold of his free hand, pinning it to the counter.

Normally, Mark would have been able to free himself without much difficulty, but while Mark was stronger than Jack, he was not stronger than Anti.

“What are you doing?”

Anti didn’t answer verbally. He simply hooked a finger in the waistband of Mark’s boxers, stroking along the skin of his toned stomach.

Mark didn’t respond, backing up as much as he could until his back was against the counter as well.

“Don’t want to wake the others, now,” Anti whispered, smirking.

Jack tried to bury himself. He tried to shut off what he was seeing, hearing, feeling… but it was impossible to just force himself to sleep. Not when Anti was forcing him to feel everything he was doing, every touch he gave Mark. One couldn't really fall asleep with their eyes open in the sun.

_Leave him alone. Leave him alone, right now! Anti-_

_Someone’s protective,_ Anti teased, playfully biting at Mark’s shoulder. Mark inhaled a shaky breath. _If you weren't going to take him, I might as well._

“Jack, stop it-” Mark sounded as if he was trying to joke, as if Anti wasn't seriously considering what he looked like he was considering. Still, he made no moves to stop him other than trying to scoot away, a movement Anti easily followed.

Jack was furious, but also incredibly surprised that Mark wasn’t fighting back. Why wasn’t he fighting back?

 _Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt you,_ Anti suggested. _Or maybe… maybe he likes it? Shall we check?_ His fingers dipped under the fabric of Mark’s underwear suggestively.

_NO!_

Mark's phone clattered to the counter and he grabbed Anti's wrist in an attempt to stop him, but Anti was too quick and too strong for Mark to subdue. It was too late.

Anti's fingers wrapped around Mark's shaft, and Jack could feel _everything._ The softness, the weight, the warmth…

If he'd had the option, he might have thrown up.

Anti practically purred, and Jack had the sick realization that Mark was responding to Anti's touch whether he wanted to or not, growing hard in his hand as he was squeezed and stroked and pulled free of his underwear. Mark let out a hiss as he was exposed to the air-conditioned chill of the room.

Anti glanced up at Mark's face, curious to see if he was angry, if he was going to fight or struggle or yell.

But it certainly didn't look that way.

Though it was still pretty dark in the kitchen, Anti could tell that Mark was blushing brightly, his lips parted in the quietest of gasps and moans. Mark stared back helplessly, his shocked eyes wide, still clinging to Anti's wrist while his other hand was still pinned down against the counter.

Anti silently decided that helpless was a good look for Mark.

Jack was forced to watch, hear, and feel as Anti slowly teased Mark to hardness. It was sickening to feel both himself and Mark being used like that, but while Jack was loathing every moment of it, Anti was getting more and more excited.

In more ways than one.

Anti loved the feeling of power over the both of them, and was attracted enough to Mark to take pleasure from getting him off. And since Anti's emotions and thoughts were bleeding through along with his other senses, Jack couldn't help but experience them as well.

When Anti squeezed and Mark let out a quiet whimper, Jack could feel the flood of desire that rushed through his body in response. The desire to get Mark to make more of those sounds, the desire to make him come, to see him wrecked and broken, begging for more in his hands.

When his body was aroused, how could Jack not be?

It was, put simply, the most utterly bizarre thing he'd ever experienced. He was struggling with Anti every moment, but his mind was becoming fuzzy with desire. He was hard and aching, hungry for release, hungry for Mark’s.

Was it because of Anti, or… was it because of him?

Anti inwardly laughed at Jack’s anguish, giving Mark a few rougher strokes. Mark gasped, his hips jerking, desperately fucking into Anti's tight fist as his head tilted back.

 _“Jack,”_ he panted, closing his eyes. “What… what are you - _ah_ _fuck-”_

Anti dragged his teeth down Mark’s exposed throat, and Mark shuddered and moaned.

 _“Shh,”_ Anti shushed him, his thumb sliding over the slick slit, now dribbling precum. Mark bit his lip to muffle a yelp of pleasure as Anti spread it over his shaft to ease his motions.

Mark was being such a good boy, keeping quiet like this, Anti thought. He hadn't struggled too much thus far, so Anti decided to reward him by letting go of his wrist to reach under his shirt to tease and play with Mark's nipples. He knew from Jack’s memories that they were sensitive.

Mark's newly freed hand fisted in Jack's shirt, and for a moment both Jack and Anti were sure he'd try to push away from them. But he just held on, groaning and panting as his hips moved frantically with Anti's fist, biting his lip in an attempt to stay quiet.

As much as Anti loved the noises Mark made, he knew they had to keep quiet. If anyone in the house caught them, they'd have to stop, and Anti would be forced to fade into the background.

And that was unacceptable.

Even as it was, they needed to be fast. There was no way of knowing if anyone in the house would wander near the kitchen.

So he picked up the pace, nipping at Mark's jaw and murmuring things into his ear.

“You're so fuckin’ gorgeous when you're being teased, Mark,” Anti whispered. Anti loved how open and pliant he'd become, just letting Anti have his way with him. Nothing was sexier than being in power. “I couldn't resist it. Wanna see how wrecked you are when I make you come. You gonna come fer me, Mark? Wanna feel it.”

Mark gave him a cute bewildered look, his grip on Anti's wrist releasing to give him more freedom in his movements, and so Mark could grab the counter for balance.

_“Jack…”_

Something about how Mark kept saying his name stayed with Jack throughout this nightmare. He knew and understood deep down that Mark had no idea the one currently in control of his body wasn't Jack, but at the same time didn't know whether to be... flattered or utterly disgusted that Mark panted _his_ name in the heights of passion.

A traitorous part of his mind (and he couldn't tell whether or not it was at all influenced by Anti) reveled in it, wanting to hear it more.

He was close; Anti could tell from the way Mark’s back bowed, his hips still moving sporadically in the hopes of gaining more of Anti's touch… along with the short, breathless moans he was giving after every twist and jerk of Anti's hand.

Anti was so incredibly turned on at the sight and sound of Mark so close to coming; it was very nearly painful. He never ceased to be surprised at how much of a distraction desire could be. But he was too focused on teasing Jack that he was content to ignore it for the moment. He could take care of it later… or perhaps see if Mark was interested in doing it for him.

He liked that possibility, as it made Jack groan pitifully in the back of his mind at the thought.

 _“Oh god,_ Jack, _”_ Mark grunted, throwing his head back. “Fuck, oh my _God, nng-!”_

“Come fer me, Mark,” Anti ordered in a growl, grabbing him by a fistful of his hair, forcing Mark to look him in the eye as his cock jerked in Anti's hand. His lips, glistening, swollen and red from abuse, parted in a final guttural moan and as Anti looked down at the last moment, he and Jack watched as Mark came hard, the hot ropes of his come spurting over Anti's fist and both of their shirts. It was messy, but so deliciously hot that Anti couldn't give less of a fuck. Mark's voice faded into a soft whimper as he started to come down from the high of his orgasm, breathing hard, his fingers tightening in Jack's sleeve.

_Good boy._

But Anti didn't stop when Mark came, his fist still squeezing and pumping nearly inhumanly fast, using Mark’s come as lubricant. Mark almost doubled over, letting out sobs of overstimulation as he gripped Anti’s wrist tighter, this time actually trying to stop him, pressing his forehead into Anti's shoulder. “God, Jack, stop, _stop,_ please, _too much…”_

Anti finally stopped, but didn't let go.

And the bastard finally released control, shoving Jack to the forefront, not giving him even a moment to come to terms with what had just happened.

_OF ALL TIMES TO GIVE ME BACK MY BODY, YOU MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT-_

Anti was stubbornly silent, but he could feel the waves of amused smugness emanating from Anti's piece of Jack's mind.

He briefly imagined reaching inside to tear him out to punish him for what he'd done. Even if it meant tearing himself apart to get to him.

Jack let go of Mark as if burned, cheeks flaming with horrified humiliation, but Mark was still clinging to him, his knees shaking in the aftermath of what he'd just done.

“What the fuck… was that?” Mark asked, still breathless and unsteady.

Jack wanted to ask him the same fucking thing.

 _Why didn't you even try to stop me?_ He wanted to scream. _Why?!? Why would you let him do that?_

But he'd just look like a huge hypocrite if he said that, he knew. Trying to claim he was possessed would no doubt make him sound like he was insane.

Or that he was just a cowardly asshole.

So he said nothing as he jerkily turned on the sink, rinsed off his hand, and tore himself out of Mark's grasp, storming back to his room. He threw his come-stained shirt into the hamper and face planted into bed, groaning into his pillows.

The entire purpose of this was to break him, he knew. Show him he was powerless, and how he could be so thoroughly _used_ without permission.

 _That's not used, Jackaboy. I'll_ **show** _you used someday._

He felt like vomiting again, but he didn’t want to give Anti the satisfaction.

 _Aw, what a brave boy,_ Anti cooed. 

_Die in fucking hell, Anti._

He was afraid of sleep, but he'd sleep tonight, he promised himself. There was no fucking way he'd let himself be weak around Anti again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this particular scene about a month and a half ago. I didn't know if I would actually include it but eh, what the hell. I'm a sick, twisted bastard.  
> I hope my fellow sinners enjoyed. More to come when another player enters this little game.


	6. Returning Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Player four, ready.

Jack tried not to think about what had happened. He really did. 

But… Mark was his best friend. One who, up until this point, Jack liked to think he had a perfectly platonic relationship with.

Right?

But Mark hadn't resisted. He was calling Jack's name, gripping Anti tightly, like… like he  _ wanted _ it.

Jack flushed at the thought, shoving it down as arousal started to coil in his stomach. Mark was his  _ friend. _

But there was nothing friendly about the downright sinful sounds he was making as Anti pinched his nipple, or the way he said Jack's name when he was close.

There was no other way to take that. Mark had at least some degree of sexual interest in Jack. Enough to let him jerk him off, at least. 

And Jack didn't know how to deal with it.

What would Mark say? What would Mark do? What if… what if he was interested in a relationship? What if he wanted to be friends with benefits or something like that? 

He didn't have any excuses to say no.

_ I'm actually straight. I was possessed. _

Yeah, no go there. 

But this was stupid, he told himself. Mark hadn’t even offered anything yet. 

Still… he didn't want to take that chance.

When morning came, he did his best to avoid Mark like the plague.

He had this ridiculous fear that Mark was going to corner him and force him to talk about what had happened, or worse - that he'd tell the boys about it. It was silly, but he was still afraid. So he did his best to stay away from Mark, despite the fact that he was currently living in his house. He couldn't afford to make too much of a difference in his schedule, however, or Tyler and Ethan would start to suspect something was up.

And it was impossible to explain to Tyler and Ethan why he wanted absolutely nothing to do with Mark so suddenly.

_ I jerked Markiplier off the other night. But it wasn't me. I'm completely insane, because I'm sure I was possessed while I did it. And now I'm afraid to spend time with him because he seemed to like it. _

Right. Sure. That'd go over well.

So instead of locking himself in his room, he just made sure to keep either Ethan or Tyler around at all times. If they were, Mark wouldn't try to talk about it.

But Mark never tried anything.

He never tried to catch Jack alone. He never tried to talk about it. He never even acted out of the ordinary.

In the morning, Mark was already up, making breakfast with Tyler. 

Jack almost decided to feign illness, but Mark just gave him a cheerful “good morning” before refocusing on flipping his pancakes.

Jack took a seat at the table, and when breakfast was served, Mark didn't say a word to him. He simply ate, then cleaned up.

He asked Jack if he minded helping out with the cleanup, and Jack reluctantly agreed. 

Mark was acting so completely calm and collected… had the previous night really happened? Was he losing his mind? Was Anti capable of creating false memories?

He hoped.

For the rest of the day, it was the same, and Jack grew more and more paranoid.

He wasn't about to ask Mark to confirm or deny if he'd actually assaulted him at around 2AM. If it was real, he was still opposed to bringing it up. If it wasn't, he'd be revealing that he'd had a very vivid sex dream about him.

So he remained silent, waiting.

He did not have to wait forever.

A day after the incident, Jack emerged into the living room, expecting to find Tyler, Ethan, and Mark; they'd been intending to play a party game.

Instead of the three men, it was just Mark, his arms draped over his couch as he laid in wait. 

_ “Jack.” _

And, god damn it, all he could remember then was Mark's voice from that night, utterly wrecked as he came apart in Jack's hands.

He mentally shook his head. No. Not his. They'd been Anti's hands that night.

All the same, the memory of it caused warmth to flood his cheeks and belly. Anti stirred, interest piqued, though he made no effort to take control.

“Mark,” he responded, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. “Where are the boys?”

“Out.” 

Something about the way Mark said that single word made Jack feel uneasy. “Where?”

He gave Jack an odd look, rising from the couch, coming closer. “I asked them to go to the store.” He stopped a few steps away.

“Why?”

“I wanted to talk about what happened.”

_ Oh. _

Shit. Jack was not prepared. “Uh…”

“Jack… I know I said it was cool if you didn't want to talk about it… but I know something is wrong. Something serious. And I want you to tell me.”

Was this better or worse than talking about that night?

“I don't know if-” Jack paused, sighing. “I dunno if you'll think I'm crazy.”

“Tell me what's wrong.”

Jack swallowed, meeting Mark’s worried eyes. He really did just want to help. And… worst case scenario, Mark would think he was nuts.

“When I thought you were dying, I… it fucked me up,” Jack admitted. “I was real upset over the whole thing, and I didn't know how teh deal with it. That was when I met this… thing.”

Jack did his best to explain to Mark what had happened, everything he knew about Anti and the things he'd done. He explained the nightmares, the sleep paralysis, and the voice in his head. He explained the blackouts, and how he'd wake up where he last remembered being.

The one thing he left out was the Kitchen Incident. 

As Mark listened, he nodded in understanding, occasionally asking questions. He didn't look weirded out or disgusted, only curious. Only supportive. 

“Why didn't you talk to me about it?” He crossed his arms, looking concerned. “You seemed like you wanted to, before.”

“I was going to, but I remembered Anti had a deal he wanted to offer me, and I didn't want you teh think I was crazy. So… I said nothing.”

Mark's head lowered for a moment, his hair falling over his eyes. “And the night in the kitchen?”

Jack's blood turned to ice. Not because Mark was asking about it, but because… his voice...

Something was up. Something was  _ wrong _ . His voice had never been so… deadly calm. Something about it had alarm bells going off in his mind, and Anti was suddenly alert and irritated. He felt almost comforted by Anti's presence for a moment. Whatever was up, at least he wasn't alone.

He wasn't in any real danger; Anti would defend this body with every bit of power he had, and that was not something to scoff about. If Anti could kill a full grown man with no weapons quickly enough that the man made no screams, Anti could defend him from an unarmed attacker with ease.

But… Mark wasn't an attacker. He would never attack Jack… right?

Mark leaned closer, as if about to whisper a secret. “Was that Anti? Or was that you, driven to curiosity by the near death experience?”

Jack swallowed hard.  _ Anti _ , he started, uncertain. He'd never actually called on Anti before, but he didn't know where else to turn for guidance.  _ What's happening? _

_ I don't fuckin’ know. Just keep calm and quiet, see what the bastard wants. _

Jack forced himself not to shrink under the suddenly powerful presence of his friend. “T-that was- it was Anti.” He instinctively took a step back. “I wouldn't have… I didn't-”

Mark grabbed him by the wrist before he could get any further. 

**“Anti, then.”**

And in that moment, it was as if all the color drained away from him within that split second. The air around him became still, colorless, and cold. He stared Jack in the eye with a gaze of pitch black, nothing at all like Mark's warm brown eyes.

Then his lips parted in a snarl.

**“Come out, come out. You were such a little tease last we met; I think I need to teach you a few things about touching what does not belong to you.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on ya boi. I had this bit written for a while, but I only just now decided it was decent enough to post.


End file.
